


Adopt Don't Shop - A Good Meowmens Fanfic

by lucky_spike



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Cat AU, Gen, Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), Minor Sergeant Shadwell/Madame Tracy (Good Omens), i refuse to beta this ridiculous fanfic about cats, in which aziraphale and crowley are cats, that's it they're just cats that's the whole thing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-08
Updated: 2020-03-11
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:15:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22608382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucky_spike/pseuds/lucky_spike
Summary: Inspired by Chekhov's cat AU comics 'Good Meowmens', here is a fanfic in which Anathema and Newt are humans, and Aziraphale and Crowley are cats. Not disguised as cats, not trapped in cat bodies, just actual elderly cats that are inseparable.I'm calling it finished but Lord knows this is cute and fun to write, so who knows, maybe I'll add chapters later.
Relationships: Anathema Device/Newton Pulsifer, Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 159
Kudos: 978





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> All credit to [Chekhov (tumblr user: thechekhov.tumblr.com)](https://thechekhov.tumblr.com/) for their [amazing cat AU](https://thechekhov.tumblr.com/tagged/good-meowmens), without which I never would have written this! 

“I miss having a pet,” Anathema said one morning, over breakfast. It was Sunday, in late October, although the way the sun was shining in through the windows of Jasmine Cottage, you’d never have known it was so late in the fall. 

“Hm?” Newt asked, looking up from his toast. He swallowed. “I didn’t know you had a pet.”

“Back in America, yeah,” she said, idly giving her tea an unneeded stir. “I grew up with a dog and a cat: Agnes was the cat, and Major was the dog.” She smiles and chuckles. “They hated each other, but it was nice having them around. My mom got another dog when they died,” she added, a little more solemnly. “But that was after I moved out.”

Her boyfriend frowned. “I’m sorry. That must have been hard.”

“Yeah, it sucked.” She shrugged - no sense hiding it. In the ensuing silence, she pushed the remains of her scrambled eggs around her plate a little, until she took a deep breath, gathered herself, and said, “Still, I’ve been thinking about getting a pet. It’ll be nice to have company, when you’re not here.”

Which was increasingly rare these days, she’d admit. But Newt didn’t  _ technically _ live with her, not officially. He was here enough, though, that she thought she might mention getting a pet to him, and see how her suggestion was received. 

“I’ve never had a pet,” he said, around a mouthful of toast. “Always wanted a dog when I was a kid, like you do you know, but our landlord said no pets. I tried tropical fish once, but the filter got a short and they all got electrocuted.”

“Oh my God.”

“Electricity.” He offered a one-shouldered shrug. “Just my bad luck, I guess. Anyway, if you want a pet I … I mean, not that I live here or anything, but I agree it’d be nice.” He averted his eyes hastily, hands worrying at the remainder of the crust of his toast. “I could help you take care of it, when you go out of town for work and stuff.” He looked back to her, whatever had been making him anxious smoothed over, and a tentative little smile returned to his face. “Would you get a dog or a cat? Or a lizard or something?”

“Definitely something furry,” she said quickly. “I’m not big on reptiles. They’re alright but … not for me.” She shook her head. “No, I think a cat makes sense. I work so much, have weird hours, you know. Cats are more tolerant of that kind of thing. I don’t feel like I’d be home enough for a dog.” A thought occurred to her, perhaps because something was barking outside. “Besides, I already have Adam’s dog from next door, if I ever need dog-time. He’s a really good little Dog.”

Newt nodded and made a noise of noncommittal agreement. He recalled a night early on in their relationship when he’d left late, after dinner and a movie and, yes, some heavy petting. He’d been walking out to his car when the neighbor kid - Adam - had let his dog out, and the little terrier had followed Newt along the fence line all the way to his car, growling the entire time. Newt could have sworn he’d seen the thing’s eyes glow red, too. Ever since, he’d found Dog unsettling, although he’d never admit it to Anathema given her fondness for Dog and his boy.

They didn’t talk for a while, insteading finishing their breakfasts in companionable silence. Eventually, the last of his toast gone, Newt spoke again. “So were you thinking of going to the shelter? Or did you see an ad in the paper?”

“Oh, definitely the shelter,” she replied quickly. “I was thinking about heading down there sometime tomorrow and just … seeing what they have. Not bringing anything home, of course; I don’t have anything you need to have a cat. Yet.” She caught the disappointment that flitted across his face, and put her head to one side. “What?”

“Nothing!” He took a quick, defensive sip of tea and then, because she wouldn’t stop looking at him, swallowed quickly, coughed when he nearly choked, and managed a strangled, “Nothing at all.”

Anathema studied his face, even as he tried not to cough himself sick, still working on expelling the tea from his trachea. “Did you want to come?”

Newt blinked. Coughed a few more times. “Sort of,” he said, finally, a little hoarse.

“Okay.” She pulled out her phone and started searching for the local shelter on the browser. “Let’s see if they’re open today - you can help me look. You can make sure I choose one of their cute little faces wisely.” 

“Yeah, alright. That’d be cool.”

-

The shelter was not what Anathema had been expecting. Granted, her only experience with an animal shelter had been years ago, when she was in middle school and volunteered at the local humane league; she had worked for a little while in the dog kennels, taking the potential adoptees for walks. But that had been dogs, in their runs: this rescue was exclusively cats. She and Newt walked in the front door, and found themselves in a small anteroom, occupied by only a single desk piled high with newspapers. Anathema and Newt exchanged a look before Newt began to peer around the stacks of papers, searching for a person in the piles.

“Aye?” grumbled a voice from behind the newsprint towers. “Don’t jus’ stare laddie: you introduce yerself proper on first meetin’.” Anathema and Newt jumped back a little in unison as an old man stood up sharply from his seat behind the desk, accompanied by the sound of various joints popping into place. He saluted them. Anathema, unsure of how to respond, saluted back.

The old man glared at Newt, until eventually the younger man managed a weak salute in return. Apparently satisfied, the desk attendant let his arm fall back to his side. “I’m Anathema,” she said by way of introduction, holding her purse strap a little more tightly, reassured by the weight of the bread knife inside the bag. “We’re he -”

“Sergeant Shadwell!” the man barked. His eyes never left Newt’s. “And you?”

“Um, er. Ah. Newt. Pulsifer. Sir?”

Shadwell didn’t look away for a bit longer, and Anathema reached out to take Newt’s hand in reassurance. This shelter had seemed respectable online, but then again …

“Aye,” said Shadwell, at last. “Do ye have an appointment?”

Anathema blinked. “Oh, no, I thought … I didn’t realize we needed to make an appointment. We’re just looking for today. If we need to, could we set one up while we’re here?”

“Nay, lass, walk-ins are acceptable.” He grumbled a little, before picking his way through the papers. “Yer the only ones here for now. The crazy cat lady’s in there with ‘em now, finishing up the lunches.” Anathema watched as Shadwell shuffled across the anteroom, pausing when he laid his hand on the door handle which, presumably, led to the shelter. “You have experience with cats, either of you?”

“I do,” Anathema replied, while Newt shook his head no. “I had a cat all growing up. Agnes.”

“How many nipples did she have?” Startled, Anathema did not immediately answer. She blinked. “Well?” he demanded, waving a hand in the universal gesture of ‘get on with it’.

“I … the usual amount? I think? I was a kid,” she added, in case she had just failed some kind of required testing to prove herself worthy of cat ownership. “I never really counted.”

“She was nae a witch in cat’s form?”

“What?” Anathema laughed. “No. No, she was just a tabby. Do you worry about those a lot, witches?” Subtly, she elbowed Newt, who was opening and closing his mouth around words unspoken, and looking a little like a fish for it. 

Shadwell nodded solemnly. He turned back to the door. “Why I work here, ye ken. Have to keep an eye on the witches and familiars.”

Anathema caught the way Newt’s gaze flicked to the papers and then back forward. She herself drew her own conclusions about Sergeant Shadwell in that moment, too: Perhaps he was a war veteran, just a little scrambled from his time in the Army, she thought. He wouldn’t be the first. Instead of saying any of this aloud, however, she just nodded and said, “Well, thank you for your service. We’re just hoping to find a regular cat.”

“Aye.” Shadwell nodded, and then carefully opened the door into the shelter proper, peering through the crack first to ensure there would be no escape attempts. “Right, in with ye. Don’t let any of the wee bastards run out when you go in.”

They didn’t need telling twice, nor did they need much excuse to get away from Mr. Shadwell. Anathema and Newt both muttered polite, hurried thanks, and ducked through the door, their shoulders drooping imperceptibly with relief as soon as they were through and they heard the reassuring click of the door shutting behind them.

Wide-eyed, Anathema turned her face up to Newt’s, her brown eyes locking with his green ones for a second. “Weird,” Newt said first, before she could fully muster all of her thoughts into a cohesive sentence. She nodded.

“Very weird.” They looked at each other a bit longer, decided without speaking that that was all the consideration they were willing to give Mr. Shadwell for the day, and turned to look at the room they’d stepped into. As opposed to the dog kennels Anathema remembered from her childhood, this was, surprisingly, open. A big room, full of cat trees and hides, the floor strewn with toys and towels. There were cats scattered around too, loose in the room by the look of it. She could see a few cages near the back, but there were neat little laminated papers fastened to them, some of them with pill bottles also tucked into neat sleeves next to them. Quarantine, Anathema thought. In front of one of the cages was a thin woman, her back to them, who appeared to be fussing over the cage’s resident.

Beside her, Newt stuffed his hands into his pockets. “This is nice,” he said. “So you said you were thinking a younger cat. Like a kitten?”

“Maybe not quite.” Ahead of them, sat up straight in what looked like an old, much-clawed armchair, was a regal-looking orange cat, watching her through eyes so blue they almost looked purple. Its tail flicked back and forth as it watched her, and she wondered if it was aware of the little tuxedo cat behind it, crouched on the chair’s back and ready to pounce. “Let’s see what they - ow!”

Of course, she had meant to say ‘Let’s see what they have’. Unfortunately, she was interrupted rather suddenly when something bony and furry and very, very black collided with the left side of her face, knocked her glasses to the floor, and then scrambled down her back, hooking claws into her coat the entire way. Newt yelped as well when the cat darted between his legs, nearly tripping him over, before pelting across the room and into one of the soft caves near the back. A low, long hiss emanated from the cave, although Anathema was too distracted by picking up her glasses to notice.

“That cat ran into me,” she said to Newt, a little indignant, as she rubbed her glasses clean on her shirt sleeve and put them back on. She turned her back to him and asked, “I think it scratched my coat, too - can you tell?”

“No, your coat looks fine.” He glanced to the cave that the attack cat had retreated to. “Mad little thing, though.”

Anathema shook her head, but before she could properly reply, the woman she’d seen tending the cat in the cage when they’d walked in bustled over, saying, “I’m  _ so sorry _ , dears, so sorry. He just was on one of his little runabouts, the old speed demon, and I wasn’t expecting anybody.”

“Does he always run into people?” Anathema asked, amused. The woman in front of her - late middle-age, with store-bought red hair and wearing a colorful, flowy dress - laughed, and shook her head.

“I’d imagine from his point of view it was you that got in his way.” She stuck her hand out to shake and Anathema took it, making a mental note of all the rings she was wearing and the worn, loved feeling to the stones laid into them. “He’s not very good at looking where he’s going, the poor thing. I’m Tracey.”

“Anathema. This is Newt.” She smiled. “We’re just looking today - I’ve been thinking about getting a cat, now I’m settled in for the foreseeable future.”

Tracey clasped her hands by her cheek and broke into a genuine, wide smile. “Oh, how wonderful! Well, have a look around, by all means. I can certainly answer any questions you might have about the dears.” She turned away from them, the better to spread her arms demonstratively toward the open room. “Most of the residents are in this room with us. There cages in the back are for the quarantined little ones, or the poor souls who haven’t done well out with the others.”

Anathema nodded. In the armchair, the tuxedo cat finally pounced, landing fully on the orange cat’s back, white-toed paws clung to the much larger cat’s neck. The orange cat yowled, and jumped down, not running but nevertheless looking intensely offended, batting at the smaller cat as it retreated. “Uh-oh.”

“Pay those two no mind, they’re always after one another,” Tracey said breezily. “But when it comes time to sleep they’re never far apart from each other. Now that Gabe’s vacated the chair though, why don’t you have a seat? I find,” she went on, ushering Anathema across the room while Newt tagged along behind, “that the best way to meet cats is to sit still and see which one shows interest in you. Go on, have a seat. Would you like a cup of tea?”

“I would,” Newt said, timidly raising his hand as he spoke. “Please.”

Tracey nodded but didn’t face him. “Yes, of course. And you, Anathema?”

Anathema looked around the room and then said, “Sure, if it’s not a problem.”

Tracey looked pleased with that answer, and ascertained their milk and sugar preferences before bustling off to a little closed-off room where, a moment later, they could hear water running and then the click of an electric kettle. “She seems nice,” said Newt, half-sitting on the arm of the chair.

“Yeah, she does. Oh, hello!” A sleek, shiny short-haired tabby cat had wandered closer to them, and Anathema reached down to pet it. The cat flinched away, however, and then fixed her with a look of such intense disdain that Anathema sat back up, arms crossed. “Well fine then.” She looked up to Newt. “You see anything that’s catching your eye?”

Newt pointed to a tree across the room, where a disheveled-looking orange cat that was so light as to be almost blonde, and a different, long-haired tuxedo cat with hardly any white at all, not to mention a few chunks out of its ears, were sitting together, studying a toy mouse. “Those two look cute.” A second later, however, the tuxedo cat lunged down and started to ferociously chew and scratch at the mouse, howling the whole time. The orange cat considered this, made a loud, alarming croaking noise, and then threw up a hairball. “Maybe not.”

“Not the greatest first impression, no.” Anathema sat back in the chair, steepling her fingers and propping her elbows on the arms. As she did, she nearly knocked into a bookshelf which had been tucked back behind the chair. It was full of children’s books, their covers well-worn and well-loved. “Aw, look! I wonder if they have one of those reading programs for kids here. We’ll have to ask Tracey when she comes back.”

“Seems like they must.” Newt leaned onto the back of the chair, the better to peer at the selection of available books. “Oh, they have Berenstain Bears. Not Berenstein.”

“Apparently it never was Berenstein.” Anathema’s eyes narrowed. “ _ Apparently _ . But I’m pretty sure I distinctly remember it being that when I was a kid.”

Newt snorted. “Government conspiracy, do you think? Seems like they’d have better things to do, if you ask me.”

“It could be part of a larger picture that we just haven’t seen yet.” She continued to rummage around in the bookshelf. “Let’s see,  _ Rainbow Fish _ , that was always a good one,  _ Pat the Bunny _ , also good for little ones and oh hey!” She pulled a book loose from the rest and held it up for Newt to see. “ _ Frog and Toad are Friends _ ! I loved this book when I was a kid. Did you ever read it?”

Newt frowned as he thought. “I can’t really recall it, so I don’t think so?” He watched Anathema while she opened the book to the first page, and studied the illustrations carefully. “Not ringing any bells.”

“I see you found the books.” Newt and Anathema turned around to face Tracey, who was carefully making her way over to them with two steaming mugs of tea. “We do an after-school program for the younger children, you know. They’re free to come in for an hour or so and read to the cats, if they’d like: it’s good for their reading skills, and public speaking too, so they say. Either way, everybody seems to enjoy it.” She handed them their mugs. “Careful you don’t spill, it’s hot. There you are. Oh, Frog and Toad! Very popular, that one.”

Anathema smiled broadly, blowing on her tea a little to speed up the cooling. “I loved it when I was a kid. My mom used to read to me, and I remember this one was one of my favorites.”

“They’re very sweet stories,” Tracey agreed. She turned her attention to Newt. “Have you read them?”

“Don’t think so,” he muttered over the rim of his mug. “I was just trying to remember, but it’s not ringing any bells.”

Tracey’s smile grew wider, if that were possible, and Anathema realized how much she was warming to the woman. “Well take some time and read then, if you’d like. You might find yourself with a new friend by the time you’re finished, hm?” She folded her hands in front of herself, bracelets jangling as she moved. “Take all the time you want. I just have to finish up with the quarantine cages, if you don’t mind, but I’ll just be over here.”

When Tracey had turned away, Anathema looked up to Newt, and then looked to her right. The chair beside her was devoid of any felines, and so she scooted over, making just enough room for the skinny man to wedge in between her hip and the chair’s other arm. She patted the seat. “Come on, let’s just read a little. Maybe the other cats will get more comfortable with us, then.”

“Good idea, yeah.” Newt slid down beside her, nestling in to the little space allowed by the double-occupancy in a single-seated chair. “So what’s this book about?”

“A frog and a toad, and they’re friends,” Anathema answered. Newt sighed, and she smirked. “Serves you right for asking.”

“Suppose it does. You want to turn the pages?”

Anathema considered the suggestion, and then shook her head. “Why don’t I read it to you?”

“Well, I’m a bit old for children’s storybooks.”

“Ye-es,” she said, very slowly, because she wasn’t precisely sure she agreed with whether or not anybody could be too old for children’s book. An argument, she decided, for another time. “But it might put the cats at ease?”

Newt sighed, and slouched back a little deeper into the chair. “Alright. I like your reading style, anyway.” He grinned when she turned to peck him on the cheek, before she settled in, her attention back on the book, and began to read.

They didn’t make it far, but then again, Anathema wasn’t sure she needed to, her mind already remembering every word of the story like she was five years old again. By about page 7, she became aware of a strange smell permeating the air around them. It wasn’t bad, really, but it was … noticeable. A bit dusty, really, like an old room that hadn’t been let air out enough. Her pace slowed in her reading, and she was nearly ready to start looking around for the source when, obligingly, the source jumped up onto the arm of the chair beside her with a curious little purr.

The cat was a fat, long-haired white thing, its ample fur just a bit curly. Its paws were brown, but not from dirt, she realized, as it strolled across her lap, tail raised high. She stopped reading, and Newt clearly stopped listening, the two of them suddenly drawn to the cat sniffing the book studiously. After its investigation was complete, the cat began to purr, meandered the rest of the way across Anathema’s lap, bumped its head into Newt’s arm, and then circled once before laying down in the warm divot where their thighs met. Anathema felt her leg start to rumble as the cat settled in, purring all the while.

“Well hi,” she said, hesitantly reaching down to pet the animal. She went slow, half expecting it to leap down at the first touch, but instead it leaned its head into her hand, inviting the pat, and she could feel the purring intensify. “Aw, aren’t you sweet.” The cat had a little tartan collar on, and she worked her fingers into the thick fur around it, until she could reach under the collar for a good scratch. The cat by all appearances approved of this whole-heartedly, and cocked its head to allow her for better access.

“She’s a friendly one, isn’t she?” Newt said, giving the cat’s back a cautious scritch and smiling a little when it arched its back and flagged its tail up. “Aw.”

Tracey must have heard the break in Anathema’s reading, because a moment later she poked her head around the chair to see what the disruption was. “Oh, Aziraphale! He’s a sweet cat.”

“Aziraphale?” Anathema looked up to the older woman, half-smiling. “That’s a … unique name.”

“Dr. McDormand picked it,” Tracey replied with a wave of her hand. “She brought him in with the other one eleven months ago, right when we opened. A blessing too, really - she’s a wonderful vet, and if she hadn’t brought those poor dears in we never would have met!”

“Funny how the world works, isn’t it?” Anathema grinned. “Aziraphale. He’s very outgoing.”

“He loves it when people read. Always the first one over to the kids when they come in, and he just settles in right alongside them and falls asleep as soon as they start.” She gestured to the book. “If you go on reading, you’ll see.”

As if to agree, Aziraphale the cat reached to the book with a paw and patted the page Anathema was on, swiping at a folded corner, and meowed quietly. Anathema laughed. “Alright, I get the point.”

“Bossy,” Newt added, still scratching the cat between his shoulders. “Cute, though.”

“Very.” Anathema shifted a little before picking back up where she’d left off. As she read, she felt almost sure the cat was listening, although its eyes eventually drifted closed and also, it was a cat. She gently rubbed at its head and ears all the while, Newt likewise scratching its neck, and between them Aziraphale purred strongly enough to make the chair cushion beneath them rumble.

She finished the book, eventually; it was a children’s book, and it wasn’t long. She rather suspected she’d lost Newt near the end, and after she closed the book she turned to him, only to find him staring reverently at the cat, still patting it gently. “So?”

“Huh? Oh.” He inclined his head toward the closed book in her lap. Aziraphale made a little chirping purr noise, and nestled in more securely, as if bidding them not to leave. “That was a cute book.”

Anathema hummed her agreement and rubbed at the tuft of fur under Aziraphale’s chin. “This is a really cute cat.”

“He smelled a bit, I thought,” Newt said, although he didn’t stop petting, his fingers sinking into the soft, curly fur. “It’s funny though, I don’t notice it now.”

“Me neither.” She chuckled. “Maybe we went nose-blind to it.”

“Must have done.” They sat quietly for a minute, both petting the cat and watching it, before they looked up to one another.

“I think he’s the one,” Anathema said, quietly, not wanting Tracey to overhear quite yet. 

Newt nodded. “I could get used to this. Having a little reading buddy.” In his spot between the two of them, Aziraphale started to knead his paws into their thighs gently, the sharp tips of his claws doing little more than prick just a little, not nearly enough to hurt. Newt grinned soppily. “Yeah. Yeah, I’d be alright with this guy.” He craned his neck around to look for Tracey, careful to keep his leg perfectly still so as not to disturb the cat. “Ms Tracey?”

“Yes, dear?” She looked up from her task - measuring out food, apparently, all the while being closely watched by the orange cat with the purple eyes - and then brightened when she saw his face. “Still with Aziraphale, yes?”

“Could we know a little more about him?” Anathema asked. Tracey walked over and Anathema shifted a little, the better to see the shelter owner, and Aziraphale made a cross little noise, though he didn’t move. “He’s so sweet.”

“He is.” Tracey stood in front of the chair, hands on her hips, smiling down at the cat nestled between them. “He gets a bit territorial at times about his spots, but he’s a good cat all around. But you should know, if you’re interested: he’s part of a bonded pair.”

“Right,” Anathema said slowly, her mind fetching back to the earlier conversation about Dr. McDormand bringing Aziraphale in with ‘the other one’. She looked to Newt. “What do you think about that?”

Newt shrugged. “Dunno. Which one is he bonded with?” He looked around, pausing on the orange cat by the food containers, and Tracey laughed. 

“Not Gabriel, that’s for certain. No, you met his other half already.” Her smile faltered a little. “The, ah, the black cat that … you first met.”

“That ran into me, you mean?” Anathema frowned down at Aziraphale. “They don’t seem that … compatible. Aziraphale’s so laid back and that one seems a little more anxious.”

Tracey shrugged. “I’d agree with you, but they adore one another. When they first arrived, Crowley - that’s the black one - needed some time in quarantine, and it was terrible. He howled the entire time, and Aziraphale here just sat outside of his cage and moped. They both lost weight, Crowley stopped drinking, so I just ended up putting them in there together.” She threw her hands up. “Three days later they’re both right as rain. Definitely a bonded pair, those two.”

Newt looked warily toward the corner where Crowley had retreated to a cat cave. “Is Crowley … friendly?”

“He, er. Warms up to you,” Tracey concluded, wringing her hands. “Sometimes. If he likes you. Oh, but look.” Suddenly, she reached out and scooped Aziraphale up. The big cat flopped around in her arms like a rag doll, purring incessantly, and she rubbed at his belly a little before she put him down on the floor. “Right. Now, watch this.”

Fascinated, Anathema and Newt wordlessly watched as Tracey crossed over to one of the soft caves and unfastened the velcro at the top. Quickly - much quicker than Anathema would have expected - she grabbed the black cat Crowley and started carrying him over gingerly. Crowley was obviously displeased by the development, and thrashed and yowled the entire time Tracey was carrying him, tail switching side-to-side and paws waving wildly, claws out and scratching at the air. “Be careful - !”

“Now look,” Tracey said and, without any further explanation, bent down just far enough to make sure that when she dropped Crowley, his trajectory carried him directly down, on top of Aziraphale.

For a second, Anathema thought it had been a terrible mistake, and she was amazed Tracey would do something so reckless: Crowley landed on the fluffy white cat with a cacophony of hisses and yowls, his claws fully extended and his back arched, hackles raised and teeth bared. Aziraphale, to his credit, did nothing, and simply sat very still, even as the demon cat above him screeched his displeasure to the world.

But then, while they watched, the strangest thing happened: though Crowley didn’t sniff Aziraphale, or really acknowledge him significantly in any visible way, the noise stopped. The black cat’s ears quirked out to the side, slightly more relaxed than the flat-back pin he’d had them seconds before, and his pupils blew wide. His claws retracted. And then, with a noise like a rusty chainsaw firing up for the first time in years, Crowley began to purr. He gradually lowered his head until his chin rested atop Aziraphale’s, and the white cat closed his eyes, his familiar purr joining Crowley’s in a smooth, comforting bass, so different from the skinny cat’s.

“Huh,” said Anathema, after watching this for a minute. “ _ Huh _ .”

“I know. They make an odd pair, but what can you do?” She sighed, wrapping her arms around herself and cocking a hip. “Unfortunately, Crowley’s a bit of a hindrance to Aziraphale, really; I could have adopted Aziraphale out twenty times over by now if it was just him. But as it is, he’s got his best friend, and they’re both senior cats besides, which just compounds the whole issue. Everyone always wants a younger animal.”

“How old are they?” Newt asked. Before them, Crowley gradually slunk off of Aziraphale and settled onto the floor next to the other cat, nuzzling his face into the fur of the white cat’s throat until his eyes were hidden. Crowley’s tail twitched - spasmed, really, like it couldn’t quite move normally - and settled over Aziraphale’s haunches, coming to rest there. 

Tracey shrugged. “At least sixteen, maybe older. Both of them. Dr. McDormand wasn’t willing to guess more than that. They’re very old, suffice it to say.” Anathema’s face fell. Tracey, noting this, went on quickly, “But in good health! Well, reasonably as can be expected for cats their age. No medications for either of them, anyway.” She waved toward the two of them, laying side-by-side. “Aziraphale just likes to soak in a sunbeam mostly, not much of one for playing, and he gets a bit stiff on the right hind in the cold and damp, is all. Crowley, well…” She cocked her head to the side, staring at the cats as she thought. “We think he must have been hit by a car, or something. He walks a bit funny, and it’s hard to say how well he sees, but he’s never held still long enough for Dr. McDormand to evaluate him fully. Always on the move, he is, unless he’s with Aziraphale here.” She sighed and made a helpless little ‘what can you do?’ type of gesture. “Regardless, nothing’s gotten worse in the year they’ve been here, and it doesn’t seem to slow him down at all.”

Newt cleared his throat. “It must be quite hard to adopt the older ones.”

“It is.” Tracey shook her head. “I’ve sort of given up on these two, a bit, unfortunately. I’d take them home with me, of course, and let them live out their days, but Mr. S and Crowley don’t really get along.” She shot an amused look toward the entry door. “Mr. S believes he’s a demon, can you believe? I tell him it’s silly, but what can you do?”

Anathema snorted, and remembered the way Crowley had slammed into her head as soon as she’d walked in. She didn’t voice it, but she felt a bit inclined to agree with Mr. Shadwell. Still, Aziraphale was so sweet … “Are they happy here?”

“Reasonably.” Tracey watched, bemused, while Anathema laid the book aside and extricated herself from the chair. Newt blinked up at her through his glasses, brow furrowed. “I think they’d do better in a home where they were the only two, of course, but it’s going to be a difficult home to find, I think.”

“Maybe,” Anathema replied. Once she’d drawn even with the cats, she crouched down, dropping to her knees before them. Careful of Crowley, although his eyes were closed, she reached out to Aziraphale, and brushed her fingers over the crown of his head, between his ears. He chirruped quietly, blue eyes cracking open slightly, and pressed his head up into her hand. 

Unfortunately, this disturbed Crowley. Anathema froze when the cat looked up sharply, pupils narrowing to slits in his yellow eyes as he focused on her. A low growl rumbled in his throat. “Oh,  _ Crowley _ ,” sighed Tracey, sounding a bit miserable. “You always do this.”

“Easy, buddy,” Anathema said, quietly. “Hi. I’m Anathema.” Carefully, so carefully, she reached out to brush her fingers through Aziraphale’s ruff again, mindful of the growling black shorthair glaring at her all the while. Aziraphale, for his part, seemed to pay him no mind, and purred happily while Anathema stroked him, running her hand slowly along the length of the bigger cat’s back. Aziraphale made another happy little noise, and then rolled onto his side, allowing for easier access to his belly while also flopping half on top of his companion, much to Crowley’s apparent consternation. The black cat jumped up, swayed half a step to the left, and then stopped. 

Anathema kept petting Aziraphale, rubbing the soft thick fluff of his belly with even, pleasant strokes. He purred and purred, and she kept petting, the same motion over and over again, until …

Until Crowley flopped back on top of Aziraphale, his legs splayed out, and settled right in on the place Anathema had been petting. She paused, and the cat glared at her.  _ Well, so much for my hand _ , she thought, and made to run her hand over the same path as the last time, this time petting Crowley instead.

The teeth or the claws never came, though. She was surprised to find her hand settling on Crowley’s sleek black coat without so much as a hiss. And then, as she had done dozens of times before, she stroked her hand along the length of the cat, although this time instead of warm, soft curls she felt ribs and hip-bones and glossy, cool fur. The rusty chainsaw purr began again.

She heard Tracey say “Oh” faintly in the background, and a sharp intake of breath from Newt. “He never lets  _ anyone _ pet him,” Tracey whispered to Newt, although Anathema heard every word. The older woman cleared her throat. “I think … well, it seems Crowley might actually  _ like _ you, Anathema.”

“Maybe,” Anathema murmured. Still carefully stroking the black cat, she turned her head to look at Newt. “What do you think?”

Newt had sat forward in the chair, elbows on his knees and hands clasped. He was watching Anathema with an expression of mild amazement, and it took him a minute to respond. “Oh, uh. Well, I um … I like Aziraphale.” He spread his hands. “And you seem to get along with the … Crowley one.”

“Better than anyone else has,” Tracey murmured. 

“Yeah.” Anathema looked back down, watching the cats as she stroked them, her hand angled just slightly so that it could run along both of their backs simultaneously. Both of them had their eyes closed now, purring in stereo, and if she didn’t know better, she would have said Aziraphale was  _ smiling _ . Which was absurd: she’d never known a cat to smile.

“You could take some time to think about it,” Tracey said gently, as Anathema continued to pet the cats. “I know you said you were only looking for one, and I understand if you want to take some time. Perhaps you could fill out an adoption application today, I’ll look it over, and then when - I suppose I should say ‘if’, but  _ when  _ \- you get approved, you can come back and meet some of the others? Michael’s a bit younger, and she’s very active; she might be a good match.” Still watching him, Anathema blinked when Crowley’s whiskers twitched when Tracey mentioned the other cat. He didn’t move aside from that, though, and the purring never faltered.

“Aziraphale is sweet, though,” Newt added. 

“Well, yes, I know, but he’s a bit of a package deal, I’m afraid, and with the two of them being the way they are, I’d expect it’s a commitment -”

Anathema looked up. “I’ll fill out papers for both of them. The pair. Aziraphale and Crowley.”

“You  _ will _ ?” Tracey was staring at her, shocked. “Aziraphale  _ and Crowley _ ?”

“Well, yeah. They have to go together, they’re unhappy apart, and … they’re sweet. Crowley might even come around, in his way.” She nodded, bravely gave Crowley a little scratch behind the ears and was relieved not to earn a bite or a scratch for her troubles, and then stood up. “Is that alright with you, Newt?” she asked, smoothing her skirt out.

Newt blinked. “I … well, they’ll be your cats, really, and it’s your house but -” she raised an eyebrow and he stopped. After opening and closing his mouth a few times, finally, he shrugged. “Yeah. Yeah, it’s good. I’m good with it.”

“And you’re  _ sure _ ?” Tracey asked, still looking from Anathema to Newt to the cat. “You’re very sure?”

When Anathema responded, she nearly surprised herself with how confident she sounded, but moreso, how confident she  _ felt _ . “Yeah. Yes, I am very, very sure.”

“Well, then.” Tracey straightened up, and allowed herself a broad, genuinely happy smile, “Follow me right this way, dear: we’ll have your application filled out in no time.”


	2. Homecoming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anathema and Newt bring the cats home. It's eventful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well heigh ho looky here, a new chapter of this frankly ridiculous story! imagine that (it's fun to write).
> 
> first of all, let me say i hope you all enjoy this as much as you did chapter 1! the feedback on that was _amazing_ and i am so, so happy and grateful to everyone who commented or left kudos! you all made me smile real wide, and right now i kinda need that in my life. this fic brings me joy to write (does it spark joy? it does) so i'm so glad to see so many people like it as well!
> 
> second of all, please make sure you check out the art that inspired it, if you haven't already! the artist is [chekhov](https://thechekhov.tumblr.com/), and their tumblr is a treasure if you love good omens (i do), or the magnus archives (i ... will get to it).
> 
> and third of course thanksssssss to the Ace Omens discord server, y'all are great.

They agreed on Thursday. Anathema’s schedule was flexible - a bonus to being an occultist - and Newt had asked for Friday off some months ago with the vague thought that they might want to do something special on Halloween. This year, apparently, that meant picking up two elderly cats and welcoming them home, where they would live out the rest of their days in, Anathema hoped, comfort and peace. 

Anathema came from a long line of witches, sooth-sayers, and fortune-tellers, but seeing the future had never really been her gift: she was more of an empath, more in-tune with the here and now. Which was probably why when she thought about the cats’ future, she didn’t immediately laugh at the idea of ‘comfort and peace’. 

Mostly, it had to be said, the peace part.

On Tuesday night, they went to the local pet shop to purchase supplies. Tracey had provided them with a list of essentials for ‘the boys’, mostly food, dishes, and things like litter and boxes, but she also suggested a soft cave for Crowley to hide in, given that he had always seemed so inclined at the shelter. Additionally, Anathema and Newt decided that beds would be in order, and they spent what was frankly an unreasonable amount of time considering the options, weighing the pros and cons, and ultimately settling on a pair of orthopedic beds which promised superior comfort for senior animals. Anathema settled on a dark gray one and a camel-colored one, mostly because although she was excited about the new additions, she wasn’t sure she was excited enough to buy the pink one with hearts and fish skeletons on it.

That night, they arranged all of the things around the cottage in places they hoped would be ideal and then, on Wednesday, Anathema re-arranged them in light of her new opinions regarding sunbeams, as well as a particularly vivid dream she’d had about Crowley using the domed litterbox as a launching point for curtain-climbing.

Anathema purposely scheduled herself for multiple appointments on Thursday, the better to keep her mind off of things while she waited for Newt to come home from work. It wasn’t far to Tracey’s shelter - certainly within walking distance on a nice day - but with the nights getting colder and the dark sky threatening rain, not to mention the fact that she’d be trying to wrangle a cat carrier besides, she felt it would be preferable to drive. In the morning, she had a cup of coffee and set the empty carrier by the door, bedded thick with a mat and towels, and then turned her attention to her work.

Fortunately, she had had the foresight not to schedule anything that would require intense focus and a clear mind: no tarot readings, seances, or Ouija sessions. She  _ did _ have a one-hour conference call which turned into a two-hour conference call regarding the accurate mapping of ley lines in the West Virginia mountains, a report on unusual animal activity around Pripyat to review, and some footage of purported UFOs which, she determined almost immediately, were actually drones that someone had duct-taped flashlights to. By the time Newt got home, she was more than ready to shut her laptop, set it aside, and head to Tracey’s to pick up the cats.

“I hope they settle in alright,” Newt said, leaning to the off-side to steady Dick Turpin as Anathema climbed in, just in case it considered rolling onto its side*. “It might be a big change for them.”

[*  _ A unique problem to three-wheeled cars, she had discovered early-on. _ ] 

“That’s why I wanted to be able to be around. Just in case.” Although, if pressed, she wouldn’t have been able to quantify in case of  _ what _ . They were cats, not dogs, and wouldn’t need to be let out or walked or anything similar. Still, she wanted to see them settle in, make sure they adjusted alright, and be there to reassure them if they seemed to need it. Well, Aziraphale, anyway. She rather doubted Crowley would be the kind of cat to seek out reassurance at any point.

This time, they didn’t hear or see Shadwell at the desk, so they strolled straight in, making sure the exterior door was closed in case of escape attempts. Anathema bundled the soft carrier along with her as they stepped through the door, and grinned when she heard Tracey exclaim, “Ah, there they are, the dears!”

Tracey was dressed similarly to the way Anathema remembered her from Sunday: long, flowing scarves and a comfortable dress, bedecked with jewelry and bangles. Today, there was another woman in the room as well, standing next to Tracey and chatting with her lightly. Later, Anathema would be perplexed to realize she couldn’t remember  _ what she looked like _ , in spite of having a full conversation with the woman, aside from the fact that she was very friendly-looking and wore soft, Earthy tones with a long, light-blue veterinarian’s coat. 

“Dr. McDormand,” she said when she shook Anathema’s hand. “So you’re the new caretakers for Aziraphale and Crowley, I hear?”

“Caretaker, yes.” Anathema laughed. “I have a feeling that’s going to be an apt description. Nice to meet you.”

Dr. McDormand smiled broadly. “Such a pleasure, honestly. I don’t usually see the residents off, but I happened to be here doing a check on Ligur over there after someone -” she shot a good-natured glare at a cat cave at the back of the room, and Anathema had a distinct feeling she knew which cat would be in it**, “ - dunked him in the toilet last night.”

[**  _ Black, grouchy, coming home with her shortly .... _ ]

Anathema blinked. “Oh no, uh … is he okay?”

“He’ll live. I’m sure his pride is a bit bruised.” Tracey said with a little laugh. “It just gave me a fright, the way he wouldn’t move last night and howled all night long - I thought he must have been hurt.”

“Just dramatic,” Dr. McDormand sighed. “Him and his compatriot Hastur over there. But they’re all fine.” From behind the chair by the reading nook, a white, fluffy cat emerged. Dr. McDormand and Tracey turned to look when he meowed rather politely, and the vet squatted down, arms outstretched to him. “And here’s one of the cats of the hour!” Aziraphale happily trotted over, and started purring the minute Dr. McDormand scooped him up into her arms, cradling him like a baby. “Are you ready to go to your new home, Aziraphale?”

Anathema beamed as this was met with even more enthusiastic purring. She looked to Newt, who chuckled. “Isn’t he such a good boy?” Her boyfriend nodded in agreement, happily watching as the vet gave the big fluffy cat a good scritch in the ruff of fur around his neck.

“Don’t let him fool you: he gets up to some mischief entirely on his own.” Tracey shook her head. “I used to blame Crowley for being a bad influence, but the longer I’ve had the two of them the more I’ve realized that Aziraphale is just very, very good at looking innocent.” She shook her head. “A month or two ago, he got up into the food cabinet and the door swung shut and he got stuck inside. I came in in the morning to find Crowley sitting outside making all kinds of noise, and when I opened the cabinet this one here was there with a bag of half-eaten food and a look on his face like ‘who, me?’” She rubbed him between the ears. “You old silly.”

Anathema realized that as she scratched the cat, Dr. McDormand had started to frown. When Tracey had finished, she asked, slowly, “Aziraphale, what happened to the collar I put on you last time I was here?”

As if he understood, the cat froze. Stopped purring. Went wide-eyed. Anathema did too, surprised by the reaction, but Dr. McDormand was clearly trying not to smile. 

Slowly, the fluffy cat waved a paw at the vet and made a little chirping noise, half meow and half purr. Dr. McDormand doubled down on her serious expression. “You didn’t take it off again, did you? Where do you hide them?” The cat purred, and Dr. McDormand’s eyes narrowed.

If she was going to speak, though, a meow interrupted her. Startled, Anathema looked down to see Crowley, all sleek black fur and bony angles, sitting on her feet, glaring up at the veterinarian through yellow eyes. Dr. McDormand looked too, and Crowley yowled again, half-growling. 

“And there you are,” Tracey said softly, arms crossed. “Anathema, I’d consider it high praise that he’s sitting on your foot. It means he likes you.”

“I’m honored,” Anathema replied, not daring to reach down to try to pet the cat. Crowley was still glaring at Dr. McDormand, ears laid back. “Er.”

“He really doesn’t like me,” Dr. McDormand sighed, still absently scratching Aziraphale and bouncing him like a baby, the cat in her arms purring and limp. “When he first arrived I was trying to give him his eye drops, and he leapt off of the treatment table. Well, I say leapt but it was … a bit less graceful. He sort of fell. Either way, I think he blames me for it. He hasn’t forgiven me yet.” She narrowed her eyes back at the black cat. “But you’re welcome for treating your conjunctivitis.” Crowley hissed.

The group of humans shared a little chuckle at that. Slowly, Anathema set the carrier down, careful not to startle the cat on her feet. Tracey noticed, and gave Aziraphale a little scratch on the chin. “Well, I’m sure you’re eager to get these boys home and settled, hm? Do you need anything for the dears? What kind of food did you buy?”

Anathema rattled off the name of what Tracey had recommended, and both Tracey and Dr. McDormand nodded, satisfied. And then Anathema looked to Newt and added, “And … well, we thought since Crowley was a bit on the thinner side, maybe he could do with some extra food, so we picked up some of the wet food that’s sort of like a treat? Gourmet pate or whatever.”

“Ah.” Tracey’s smile had turned a little more fragile. “Well, that’s very sweet of you. Just … well, make sure Aziraphale doesn’t get too much. He’s healthy enough as it is.”

“We were going to try to feed them sort of apart from each other?” Newt hazarded. “Like, within eyeline, but not right next to one another.”

Dr. McDormand hummed. “See how that goes. You do like your food, don’t you, Aziraphale?” She ruffled the fluff under his chin once more, muttered something about the lost collar, and then looked over to Anathema. “Right. One other thing: I’ve grown … sort of attached to these two. Even you,” she added to Crowley, who had since moved from Anathema’s foot to investigate the carrier warily. He flicked his tail, almost like he was irritated, although he never turned away to look at her. Anathema frowned. “I wouldn’t dream of telling you what to do once you get the two of them home, of course, but if you need a veterinarian …”

Anathema was nodding eagerly before the doctor even had a chance to finish. “That would be great. You already know them, and Aziraphale really likes you.” She looked down to Crowley and smiled fondly. “We can work with this one.”

“Oh, excellent.” Dr. McDormand beamed, and then lifted Aziraphale up to give him a little kiss on his nose. “Be good, alright? Try not to eat  _ too _ much.” She held him there for another second, long enough to give Tracey a chance to give him a few more pats. The woman had gone misty-eyed, and her smile was wobbling a little. “Watch your food around him,” Dr. McDormand added in a low voice, before she deposited the big cat right into Anathema’s arms. Newt, beaming, reached over and gave the cat’s ears a little rub, and then somehow managed to smile even wider when Aziraphale started purring and bumped his cheek and whiskers against Newt’s hand in return.

“I always get a bit emotional when they get to go home,” Tracey said, fanning herself. Newt bent down to open the carrier, and Anathema gently eased Aziraphale into it. If he was perplexed by this development, he didn’t seem too upset: he made a curious little purring noise and then padded inside, curling up in the back corner and laying down.

Crowley bolted in after him, of course. Anathema felt rather privileged that he didn’t bite her on the way by, although the growl made her wonder if that was going to be forthcoming. With both cats securely inside, she closed the door, and straightened back up. “I’ll take good care of them,” she told Tracey and Dr. McDormand, still looking fondly at the carrier. “And if I have any questions, I know who to call.”

“Of course dear, of course.” Tracey sniffled a little. Anathema paused to look to Newt, who inclined his head slightly toward Tracey. Anathema nodded.

“Er, I’m sure if you want to stop over some time for tea,” he said hesitantly. “You know, in a week or so, after they’ve settled? We’d be happy to have you.”

Tracey put her hand to her heart. “That would be wonderful, dear, thank you. I’d certainly appreciate it, and I’d love to see how they settle in to being only cats. I’d imagine they’ll rule the roost in no time.”

“Yeah, I think they will.” Anathema extended her hand to shake Dr. McDormand’s, and then Tracey’s, and found herself pulled into a hug with the woman instead. She stiffened up, momentarily surprised, and the relaxed when Tracey gave her such a motherly, warm hug that she couldn’t help but return it. “We’ll be in touch,” she assured Tracey as they pulled apart. “Tea. Next week, if you’d like.”

“I would.” She crouched down, looking through the front gate of the carrier, and waved to the two inside. Though Anathema couldn’t see what happened from her position stood next to the crate, she had a feeling the grumbling meow that came from inside was from Crowley. “Be good, boys. If you get into any trouble, I’ll have to come down there and sort you out. We’ll have  _ Words _ .”

Anathema laughed at that, before she bent down to pick the now much-heavier carrier up. She made sure she had it gripped well, and then took Newt’s hand, smiling at the vet and Tracey once more. “Thank you guys, so much. Promise to keep you posted on how they’re doing.” They nodded, and Anathema turned her attention back to the carrier. “Alright guys - ready to go home? Let’s go home.”

-

The car ride did not go smoothly. Well, not at first. Anathema set the carrier in the back seat and belted it in, just like the YouTube tutorial she’d watched had recommended, and once she was satisfied the box was secure, Newt pulled away from the shelter as slowly and gently as possible. In the box in the back seat, Crowley started to yell.

“I think he wants you to go faster,” Anathema said, craning around in her seat to see into the crate. Crowley was stood at the front, sharply attentive to whatever he could see out of the windshield, while Aziraphale was huddled in the back, almost braced against the sides. 

“Well, I’m just in the parking lot,” Newt said. “I’ll speed up a bit in a minute when we get to the road.”

The increase in speed did seem to please the black cat, although Anathema noted that Aziraphale had precisely the opposite response. While Crowley pressed closer to the front door of the crate, trying to look every way possible as they sped* along down the road, Aziraphale huddled further and further back into the crate, until he didn’t so much resemble a cat as a large pile of trembling cottonballs inlaid with two bright blue eyes. Anathema frowned. “Slow down: I think Aziraphale’s scared.”

[* ‘ _ Sped’ here being a relative term. After all, this was Dick Turpin, and although the car was probably technically capable of speeding, Newt had never pressed it much above 50mph even on the motorway, out of fear it would tip over should he hit a pothole, turn a corner, or just sneeze too hard while driving _ .]

“Speed up, slow down,” Newt grumbled. “I’m already going below the speed limit: if I go much slower people are going to start making rude gestures at me.” As if in response, Aziraphale yowled, distressed. “Alright, fine.”

He did slow down and, as predicted, people began passing them, showing off a selection of rude gestures and, probably, yelling a variety of expletives, although with the cooler weather and the threat of rain Newt had kept the windows up, rendering them un-hearable. Unfortunately, this did not seem to help Aziraphale, who continued to yowl with increasing intensity and frequency.

“I guess he doesn’t like car rides,” Anathema sighed. “Crowley doesn’t seem to mind though; at least there’s that.”

“Guess not,” Newt replied, raising his voice to be heard above Aziraphale’s complaints. In the crate, Crowley’s face was practically pressed against the grating now, yellow eyes wide open, making little chattering noises, his whiskers twitching. She could see his tail whipping back-and-forth too in his excitement, periodically slapping Aziraphale in the face as it did. The other cat yowled more loudly, fur fluffing out until he looked twice his size and twice as ridiculous. 

On one such swipe, Aziraphale had evidently had quite enough. With an annoyed hiss - Anathema actually blinked, it seemed so unlike him to hiss like that - he batted at Crowley’s tail and then pinned it to bottom of the crate with his paw, claws out. Crowley, clearly surprised, stiffened up, ears flat back, and then spun on the white cat, loudly making his opinions - whatever they were, probably not good Anathema guessed - known. Surprisingly, Aziraphale hissed again and Crowley quieted. 

And then, very carefully, the black cat wobbled his way to the back of the crate, swaying like a sailor on a ship. Aziraphale appeared to be glaring at him the entire time, but he did release his friend’s tail. Carefully, almost gingerly, Crowley started to climb up Aziraphale’s back, squashing the other cat’s curly white fur down as he settled into place like a jockey on a horse. Then, with his front paws snugged into the fur at Aziraphale’s shoulders, he began to knead. Once or twice, he paused to lick Aziraphale’s ears. 

Even in the car, the purring was audible. Rusty chainsaw, Anathema thought. But it worked: Aziraphale stopped screaming, de-fluffed slightly, and appeared to relax, huddled underneath his companion and maybe even enjoying the grooming, a little. As much as he apparently could given the circumstances, anyway. Anathema’s expression softened and, quietly, she said, “Aw.”

“What’s happening?”

“Crowley’s grooming Aziraphale to calm him down.” She beamed. “Oh, they’re adorable.”

Newt nodded, set his jaw, and picked up the pace, just a little. “Well, at least neither of them is screaming. That’s one of them purring, yes?”

“Yeah. Crowley.”

“Good. I was afraid it might be coming from the car.”

-

Adam was out playing when they arrived home. Newt parked his car in the usual space along the curb at the front of the cottage lot. Curious as ever, the slicker-clad eleven-year-old trotted over to the fence to say hello and watch the proceedings while Anathema moved around to the back seat and began unbuckling the crate. Both cats had gone quiet as soon as the car had stopped moving, and Anathema could see two sets of eyes - one wary, the other clearly relieved - watching her as she lifted the crate out.

Leaned up against his garden fence, Adam’s eyes widened, an unfettered grin breaking broad on his face. “Did you get a dog?” Beside him, the barest sliver of a little black-and-white nose peeked over the fence, accompanied by an enthusiastic bark from Dog. In the crate, Crowley hissed. “Oh! A cat!” He leaned over the fence further, the better to see into the crate. “ _ Two _ cats!”

Anathema debated whether or not to turn the crate around to give Adam a better look, but in the end his unbridled enthusiasm was too sweet to resist. She turned the front of the crate around, allowing Adam to see inside. “Oh, wow!” He hopped up so that he was laid across the top of the garden fence, the top of the fence pressing into his belly while extending his hand carefully toward the crate. “They’re really nice! What are they named? Did you find them?”

“They’re named Crowley - that’s the black one - and Aziraphale.”

“He almost looks like the towel,” Adam observed, amused. Anathema balanced the crate a little as the cats both tentatively made their way forward to the door, whiskers twitching. “And I get it: Crowley, like a crow. ‘Cause he’s black like a crow!”

“Maybe.” She shrugged. “They came with their names from the shelter.”

“Oh, you adopted them! Wicked. Did you get them from Ms Tracey?”

Anathema blinked. “Ye-es. Did you know her?”

“She and my mum play cards together sometimes,” the boy replied easily. Crowley made a little noise of curiosity and sniffed at Adam’s hand. “Did you meet my gran?”

Confused, Anathema looked to Newt. Being a local, she’d hoped he would know Adam’s gran, but he just shrugged in return. “I don’t know. Who’s your gran?”

“The animal doctor. Hey, buddy.” Now Aziraphale had moved closer, and Anathema had to quickly adjust her grip on the crate handle a little as he threw his weight forward against the door in attempt to rub against Adam’s fingers. 

“ _ Dr. McDormand _ is your gran?” Anathema, open-mouthed, looked to Newt. “She doesn’t look - well.” Her head ached a little as she tried to remember exactly  _ what _ Dr. McDormand had looked like. A blue coat, yes, and had she … had she been old enough to have a grandson Adam’s age? Surely not. Or maybe she had? “Um.” With her free hand she rubbed her forehead a little and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Are you close?” she settled on at last, followed by a deep breath and a sigh.

“Yeah. She’s cool. Doesn’t come around much though, on account of she’s so busy.” He looked up to Anathema, away from the cats. “Can I come in with you and say hi to them out of the crate?”

She hummed. “Well … I don’t … it’s a new home, and I don’t want to overwhelm them. Sorry.”

Adam’s golden curls bobbed as he nodded enthusiastically. “No, it makes perfect sense! But can I come see them soon?”

“Sure,” Newt replied, nodding along with Anathema. “Yeah, uh, maybe after school some day next week?”

A thought occurred to Anathema. “Did you still need help with that history assignment? You could come over and I could help you work on it, if your parents are okay with it; I think I have a few books about the industrial revolution*.”

[*  _ And the exploitation of workers and the rise of widespread high-volume pollution, she did not add. _ ]

Adam’s face fell. “No.” He looked to Dog, who drooped a little in response, and then Adam kicked the ground, throwing a clod of dirt up against the stone fence. “Finished it last week. ‘Ve got a science project to do this week.”

Newt brightened. “What kind of science? I’m pretty good at physics -”

Neither Adam nor Anathema spoke, but she could see the doubtful look on Adam’s face as they exchanged glances. She looked down hastily, the better to hide her smile. “Jus’ general science,” Adam answered carefully. “I think I’ll be okay but if I have any more questions I can bring it over.”

“You really just want to pet the cats, hm?” Anathema asked, swallowing down a laugh.

“I really just want to pet the cats.”

“Alright.” A half-screeched yowl sounded from the crate, and Anathema glanced to the front door, before looking upwards. The clouds had grown thicker, darker, and even as she watched a drop of rain fell toward them, landing on the plastic top of the crate. “I think I’d better get these guys inside before the rain starts.”

“Okay, yeah.” Hastily he slithered further on his belly over the wall until his face was nearly at door-level with the crate. He waved to the cats inside and Anathema was surprised that both of them were stood near the front of the crate, watching him with curiosity. “Okay guys, I’ll meet you all official next week, okay? Be good.” He stuck his fingers through the front of the grate, and giggled when Aziraphale rubbed up against them, purring loudly. “You too, Crowley.” There was an answering sound - a  _ purr _ , Anathema realized with a shock - and the black cat bumped Adam’s finger with his nose before sitting back in the crate, huddled up against Aziraphale’s side and glaring out of the crate toward Newt. “See you guys later!”

“See you later,” Anathema said, waiting for Adam to slip back into his front garden and run for the door, Dog yapping at his heels. “Okay.” She and Newt started walking toward the front door of their cottage, Anathema carefully peering into the crate as they went. “You guys ready to see your new home? We have all kinds of stuff for you in there, and you have free roam of the whole house …”

“Welcome home guys,” Newt added, turning the old doorknob and giving the front door a little nudge with his shoulder - the wood always swelled a bit in the damp and the door had a tendency to stick on the floorboards. Anathema found it fairly charming, actually.

The crate made a clunk as she set it on the floorboards and wobbled a little on the uneven surface when both cats cautiously padded to the front of the box, the better to peer out. Anathema and Newt shed their coats and then Newt stepped back, leaned up against the wall with his arms crossed nervously over his chest. Anathema crouched down next to the crate. “Ready?”

Aziraphale meowed when the door opened, but it was Crowley that walked out first, crouched low and slinking along the floor like something might be ready to attack him. Anathema considered petting him, trying to offer some reassurance, but then thought better of it. Instead, she waited for Aziraphale to poke his nose out after Crowley, and then take a few tentative steps before she ran her hand across his back, prompting a purr and a twitch of his whiskers.

“You like it?” she asked, as the white cat flopped to the floor for better petting access. Crowley glanced back at Aziraphale, hissed, and then swayed off down the hall, still crouched low, tail flicking quickly side-to-side as he went. 

“Seems to be getting the lay of the land, I think,” said Newt, watching as the black cat disappeared around the corner into the kitchen. “You think we should have let them out closer to the litterbox? Just so they know?”

“They’ll figure it out.” Aziraphale rolled onto his back and Anathema obliged him with a belly rub, grinning all the while. “They’re both clever old guys, I think.”

Frankly, it could not have been timed better: no sooner had Anathema said anything then a resounding crash rang out from the kitchen, followed almost immediately by an indignant yowl. Seconds later - before she or Newt could respond, and with Aziraphale still sprawled out on his back in the hall - Crowley darted back out of the kitchen with, somehow, the handle of a coffee mug around his neck. Even weighed down, he managed to skid around the corner and into the living room, where the subsequent sound of breaking crockery signaled to Anathema that the mug had probably not survived whatever happened next.

“Oh, geeze,” she said, quietly.

Newt had already started toward the living room. “I’ll see if he’s okay. I mean, he’s probably fine, but - shit!” Anathema had previously not thought Newt was in possession of particularly quick reflexes, but she reconsidered when she watched how he jumped up just in time to avoid a collision with Crowley - no longer trapped in a mug - as the cat came tearing back into the hall. Claws scrabbled on hardwood as he tried to slow himself down, but even so he started sliding, bee-lining toward Aziraphale. The larger cat only had time to make one little chirp - which sounded, if Anathema had to guess, annoyed - before Crowley bowled into him, planting face-first into Aziraphale’s belly and flipping over onto his back, eventually sliding to a stop just in front of the entrance to the crate. 

Glaring balefully at Anathema, he hissed.

“Not my fault,” she responded with a shrug. “Your buddy here is perfectly content to settle in gradually. You could have done the same thing.” She looked to Newt, smirking, and he just shook his head.

“Should I put the crate away?”

“Let’s leave it out somewhere out of the way, in case they want to hide in it.” Aziraphale stretched, pawing at the air. “Not that that seems likely.”

“Nah. I’ll put it in the corner of the living room.” He approached the crate, and Crowley, with caution. The black cat hissed again when he drew closer, and Newt put his hands up, like that would placate the cat. Anathema grinned at the gesture. “Just going to move the crate, Crowley. Not going to do anything to you.”

Anathema gave Aziraphale one final little scratch under the chin. “Mind cleaning up whatever happened to the mug while you’re in there? I’m going to check out what happened in the kitchen.” She stood, much to the cat’s disappointment, although it distracted Crowley enough that Newt was able to pick up the carrier without further drama. “I’ll put their food out while I’m in there, too. What do you want to do for dinner?”

Newt shrugged. “Figured we have leftovers - we could eat them. Not sure cooking would be a great idea tonight,” he added with a wary look at Crowley. 

“I’ll pull them out and we can see what we have.” She turned her attention back to the cats, both of whom had rolled onto their bellies, and gestured toward the kitchen. “Want to have dinner?”

As if he understood, Aziraphale jumped up, tail held aloft, and rubbed against her leg, purring loudly the entire time. Crowley still looked wary, but she didn’t really pay him any mind, instead turning and heading for the kitchen with Aziraphale trotting along at her heels. Out of the corner of her eye, she was amused to see the black shadow of the other cat slinking along with his funny wobbly gait, just off Aziraphale’s left hip. 

She shook her head, smiling all the way. Bonded pair indeed.

-

The problem with Aziraphale, they realized fairly quickly, was that he didn’t really seem all that interested in cat food. Crowley didn’t either, to be fair, but to his credit, Crowley didn’t jump up onto the kitchen table and start helping himself to Anathema’s plate.

“Hey,” she said, the first time it happened, pushing the fluffy cat away, “ _ no _ .”

“Mrow,” said Aziraphale rather severely, before padding back over to her plate and leaning down to start nibbling at her leftover chicken cacciatore again.

“ _ No! _ ” She picked him up then, grunted a little with the effort, and set him firmly down on the floor, next to Crowley, who stalked around him, tail flicking back and forth and ears pricked. If she didn’t know better, she’d say the black cat almost looked amused. “No people food,” she reiterated, and sat back down.

The next time, Aziraphale jumped up onto Newt’s side and, as before, started helping himself. “Uh,” said Newt, before he gently slid the cat away. “Knock it off.” Aziraphale started back toward him again, and he held out his hand to stymie the cat. And yelped, because this time Aziraphale hissed and swatted at him with claws out. He didn’t make contact, but it was a near thing. Newt looked to Anathema, wide-eyed, as Aziraphale casually trotted over to his plate and started eating.

Anathema’s mouth was full, but she gestured to the cat with her fork, wide-eyed. Newt shook his head. “He tried to scratch me,” he insisted, even as Aziraphale sat down to enjoy the meal better.

“He’s not allowed to eat people food!” she insisted, once she had swallowed her mouthful. She looked down to Crowley, who was sitting by the leg of the table, ostensibly cleaning his paw. “You either.” Crowley’s tail twitched, but he didn’t respond otherwise.

“He scratched at me,” Newt repeated, watching sadly as Aziraphale helped himself to the chicken. Anathema sighed and set her fork down, pushing her chair back from the table to stand up. As she walked to Newt’s side of the table Aziraphale watched her carefully, but he did not stop eating.

She propped her hands on her hips and stared down at the cat. “Alright,” she said, “that’s enough. You have perfectly good cat food over here, now just -” she reached out and snatched him up quickly, before he could scratch at her. Newt jumped away as the cat deployed his claws, flailing toward either human in retribution, but Anathema skillfully maneuvered him once again to the floor and deposited him on the tiles. “There. No more jumping on the table.” She had purchased a spray bottle during their initial supply run, although honestly she hadn’t really expected to use it. Now, though, her eyes darted toward where it sat by the sink, empty and waiting. “Please.”

“Um? Anathema?” Newt said, somewhat quietly. 

“You hear me?” She pointed two fingers to her eyes, and then turned them toward Aziraphale’s big blue ones. “I’m watching you.  _ No people food _ .”

“Mao,” he said plaintively, just before a crash that sounded heart-sinkingly like a plate hitting the tiles cracked behind her. She winced.

“Yeah, I wasn’t going to stop him,” Newt muttered by way of apology. “He’s got sharp teeth.”

She whirled on Crowley, who was sitting placidly on the tabletop, once again cleaning his paws. On the floor, Aziraphale wove through her legs, rubbing up against her ankle as he passed, and planted himself at the edge of the mess of leftovers and broken plate before starting back in on the food. “You did that on purpose,” she hissed at Crowley. The black cat flicked an ear, and then jumped to the floor to sit next to his accomplice, watching as the white cat gobbled up every bite of roast chicken he could reach without stepping in the gravy. “ _ Bad cats _ .”

“Maybe we should fill up the spray bottle,” Newt suggested, pushing the food Aziraphale had licked off to the side of his plate. “You know, just in case.” He spared Crowley a wary glance. “I’m not spraying that one though.”

Anathema started toward the sink, jaw set, eyes fixed on the spray bottle. Cold water, she thought: that would do it. Watch and see if they stole any food again, the cheeky bastards. As she drew even with the counter-top she stopped and turned back to glare at her two new cats.

Aziraphale was paying her no mind, and was snacking up the chicken with gusto, whiskers twitching with enthusiasm as he ate. Beside him, Crowley watched, yellow eyes fixed on his companion. As she watched, he leaned down to take a little bite from Aziraphale, and then when the other cat paused to glare at him, his rusty-chainsaw purr fired up again and he rubbed up against Aziraphale’s ruff. The white cat made a noise, almost like he was irritated, but then he pawed a chunk of chicken over and returned to his own chicken, Crowley nibbling at the offered piece in front of him. 

When she turned back around, her hand drifted toward the bottle. And then bypassed it completely, instead closing around the roll of paper towels sitting just behind it. “No spray bottle this time,” she announced aloud, turning with the towels in-hand. “First offense and all.” She ignored Newt’s half-cocked grin, hidden when he quickly turned his face back down toward his food. “But if I catch you two pulling this nonsense again, no more Ms Nice Witch.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :) thank you again!
> 
> comments are always appreciated, although i'm terrible about responding to them. i do try! but rest assured i read every one and save it in my disaster of an email inbox for a rainy day lol.

**Author's Note:**

> Again, if you haven't yet, _please_ go to [Chekhov's](https://thechekhov.tumblr.com/) tumblr and bask in their amazing comics. At the time of this writing, there are 4 parts, and I love them all so much!
> 
> And, a small soapbox moment, if you would indulge me: yes, I strongly encourage adopt-don't-shop. And, moreover, adopt adults/seniors! Heck, even go for those special needs animals if you have the funds to support them! I have 2 seniors, one cat and one medically fragile dog, and they are absolutely _the best_ pets in the whole world. They're old and cranky and the dog's pretty darn near deaf (although he can still hear a cheese wrapper at 500 paces), and they are so full of love and cuddles. So next time you might be thinking about a pet, give the old guys a second look! They might just be your new (stinky) best friend.


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